#Fandom imagine

[the-bat-writes-imagines]

A Sort of Affection

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Peter Hale x McCall reader

Story Type: Angst, Fluff at the end.

Warnings: Age gap, violence, major character injury, near death experience, Peter is a little ooc, story not totally canon.

Summary: Scott's older sister, who is in her early 20's, is injured during a confrontation with Kali of the Alpha pack. She's human and therefore on the verge of death. Peter, despite his insistance that he is only out for himself, will do anything to help her.

...

You had a feeling you shouldn't have come out here with Peter, but you did it anyway. It was routine. You were trying to find evidence of where Noah and your mother were. Peter was headed to Ms. Blake's apartment to look for clues. You didn't trust him not to immediately act on anything he found without bringing it to the pack first. So you insisted on going with him.

There wasn't much to gather, other than the fact Ms. Blake clearly did not keep any evidence of her druid activities here. Honestly it didn't even seem like she actually even lived here. You should get back to the others and see if they were having better luck.

"Well, I don't think we're going to get much else from this place. Let's go back and meet up with the others?" You look to Peter, honestly expecting an argument. He never wanted to listen to anyone other than himself.

"Agreed."

"Well- wait what?!?" You ask in shock.

"I said, I agree, now let's get out of here." He gestures towards the door. You raised an eyebrow at him, trying to suppress a smirk. "What? I can be agreeable." He replies with mock offense.

"You? Peter Hale? Agreeable?" You shake your head in amusement.

"Yes, I can be very agreeable... as long as the person making the suggestion is not a complete idiot." He shrugs and you snort in amusement.

"So, I guess that means I'm not a complete idiot then?" You ask him as the two of you exit the apartment.

"You? No. Your brother and his friends however..." Peter trails off, feigning shame at the thought. You know him though, and you know there is not an ounce of shame there.

"Stop it." You playfully slap his abdomen with the back of your hand. "They're not idiots, you just think you're smarter than everyone else."

"I don't think that, I know it. Besides you're almost as smart as m-" Peter stops suddenly, just as you exit the building into a nearly empty parking garage. You turn back to him in surprise only to see one of the scariest sights you have ever seen. Peter Hale looking absolutely terrified.

"What is it?" You can hear the shakiness in your own voice.

"Get behind me." Peter steps forward and puts his arm out in front of you. Guiding you to stand behind him. That's when you hear it. The sickening scrape of claws on asphalt. Immediately you feel a shiver down your spine, cold sweat starting to trickle down your back. Kali.

"Well, well, well, look at this. A washed up, former alpha and McCall's pathetic human sister." She says with a sneer. A sadistic grin forming on her face. "Looks like this going to be easy." Peter leans forward into a fighting stance, a growl rumbling in his chest as he transforms. Claws and teeth extending. Kali smiles as she mirrors his stance.

"Y/N, run." Peter growls. You are frozen in fear for a moment before the two of them pounce at one another. As soon as the two collide you finally remember how to work your legs. You sprint as fast as you are able away from the wolves. Your breath immediately starting to become ragged. Damn asthma, never had you been so jealous of Scott no longer having to deal with his.

You make the mistake of looking behind you to see where Peter and Kali were. Only to see Peter on his own, staggering to his feet. Kali was nowhere to be seen.

"NOOO!" Peter roars out as you suddenly feel a hand on your neck. The wind is knocked out of you as you are lifted off your feet. Breath cut off by Kali's hand on your throat. You feel her claws drawing a bit of blood as they press into your skin. You struggle against her grip, but it's useless. She is too strong for you too fight. Peter is running toward the two of you as fast as he can.

"LET HER GO!!" He roars again. Kali cocks her head in intrigue, looking from Peter to you.

"Interesting." She says. Next thing you feel is your body flying through the air as Kali launches you at the wall of the building. You slam into the wall, head cracking against the stone before you crumple onto the ground. Your head is ringing, vision blurred as Peter runs toward you and Kali disappears from your sight.

"Y/N! Y/N! Are you okay?" Peter is frantic, face twisted with concern as he kneels down in front of you. You try to tell him you are fine, but all that comes out is weak groan. Peter takes in the damage done you. Checking the back of your head with his hand. Finding his fingers coated in blood as he pulls them away. Panic strikes him. He sees your eyes struggling to stay open as you try to focus on him.

"Y/N!" Peter shouts again. He pulls your limp body into his lap. That's when he notices your breathing. The shallow gasps as you struggle to catch your breath. Kali threw you against the wall so hard that you broke several ribs and one of them had punctured your lung. Peter didn't know that, but it was clear that the something was very, very wrong and he was terrified.

"Y/N, I'm going to need you to hold on baby. I'm going to call Derek and Scott. Just stay with me." Peter pulls his phone out and calls Derek.

The next few minutes are the longest of Peter's life as he prays the other two wolves get there in time. Holding you, taking as much of your pain away as he can. He is rethinking the whole night trying to see a way that this could have been prevented. Some way that he could have protected you.

"Y/N!" Scott's voice rang out across from across the lot. Peter sighed in relief as he saw Scott and Derek running toward the two of you.

"What the hell happened!!" Scott yells as they approach.

"Kali." Peter growled out, the name laced with rage. "She attacked us. Now, Derek help her!"

"What do mean 'Derek help her'? She needs to go to the hospital!" Interjects Scott.

"No, look at her Scott." Peter nods toward your limp form in his arms. "She's barely conscious and she can't breath! Scott, she's dying!" Peter's voice strains as he tells him.

"You want me to give her the bite?" Derek asks, standing above the three of you.

"The bite!" Scott is immediately terrified. "That can't be her only option."

"It is, Scott!" Peter insists. "She won't make it to the hospital, at least this will give her a chance." He is pleading now.

"He's right Scott." Derek adds. "Listen to her breathing." Scott looks at you, listening to your breath and hears it. You are fading and if they don't act quick, you will die.

"What if she doesn't want this?" Scott asks. Peter nearly looses it at Scott.

"Do you think she'd rather die!!" He shouts at Scott. "At least this will give her a chance. Please." Scott looks up at Derek.

"Do it." He says to Derek who simply nods in response. Derek kneels down next you and takes your arm. His eyes glow red and his fangs extend before he brings them up to your arm. The bite hurts. You groan in pain at the contact, fire lighting up in your veins. Peter takes your hand again easing your pain. All three of the wolves around you hold their breath as they wait for a sign of life.

A moment later and suddenly your breath evens out. There is a collective sigh of relief from all of them. Peter checks the injury to the back of your head.

"She's healing." He says.

"Thank god." Scott replies. "We should get her home."

"We're near my place, I'll take her back there to rest. You two go back to check on the others." Peter says as he stands up with you in his arms.

"I don't thi-"

"Scott, the others need you and she needs rest. I live right down the road. She can stay on my couch and I'll take care of her." Peter cuts Scott off before he protest, but Scott still looks unsure. Peter, in the most on brand move of the night, rolls his eyes. "And I'll make sure she calls you the second she wakes up, okay?"

"Fine." Scott grumbles.

Peter carried you all the way back to his apartment. You were unconscious for most of it. You stirred just enough to note him tucking you into bed and feel him press a gentle kiss to your forehead. Your last thought confusion over this sudden display of care from a man notorious for not caring about anyone other than himself.

...

The next morning you wake, warm and comfortable in a bed you don't recognize. For some reason you feel safe as you take in your surroundings. That's when you spot Peter, asleep in a chair next to the bed. The previous night starts to come back to you. Joking with Peter, then Kali, then pain and blood. Then your little brother was there and Derek. There was an argument. Then... a bite? That's right, Derek gave you the bite. You can't help yourself from pulling up your sleeve and inspecting the place where he bit you. There is obviously no mark, but you had to look anyway. Having a hard time processing that your whole life had changed last night and there wasn't even a scar to show it. You were so engrossed in your arm you don't notice Peter stirring.

"Are you okay?" He practically whispers. Your head jerks up at the sudden sound. You don't know how to answer him.

"Umm... I think so." Is the best you can manage. Peter stands up and steps toward before stopping himself. A look crossed his face, something you weren't familiar on him. Almost nervous?

"Okay, um, I'll go make some coffee." Peter quickly exits the room. You go to follow him, moving carefully expecting some pain or soreness. As you stand though, you realize you're fine. There's no pain, no sign of your injuries from last night. You need to talk to Peter about last night. There was something different about him last night. Peter was always out for himself. He only helped the pack when it meant saving himself. Yet last night he protected you. He put aside his own safety to care for you. He fought for you.

You quickly find Peter in the kitchen. Pausing for a moment to watch him move around the kitchen.

"Um, Peter are you okay?" You ask him as you lean against the doorframe. He pauses with two mugs in hand to look at you. He scoffs.

"Me? What could be wrong with me? I wasn't the one who got my brain scrambled like an egg last night." He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. You can't help but smile at him, seeing right through the deflection.

"You may not have gotten your brains scrambled last night, but you're acting like they're scrambled this morning." There was a bit of laughter to your tone, but neither of you really was in the mood to appreciate the joke.

"Maybe, but I guess I've got a lot to think about this morning." He responds quietly, almost to himself.

"Like what?" You ask. You take a few small steps further into the room, closer to him.

"You." He firmly places the mugs on the counter, seemingly in frustration. You take a few steps closer again until you're standing next to him.

"What about me?" Peter scoffs ever so lightly at your question. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes before he responds.

"Everything." His head hangs forward now. "Did you know when I first met you, when I first got brought back, I hated you. I saw the way you were with Scott and I knew in my very bones that I hated you. You were everything to Scott that I should have been for Derek. You have been there for him, protecting and loving him since the day he was born. Even after he was turned, you still set out to do everything you could to help him. I was jealous of the person that you were capable of being, the one that I could never seem to be." Peter leans on the counter palms pressed down onto it. He looked forward at the wall, refusing to look at you. You want to ask him what changed but decide it would be better to just let him speak. "Eventually though, that jealousy turned into a kind of admiration. I knew you were better than me and I started to realize that was a good thing. A great thing even. Then somewhere along the way that admiration morphed as well. It turned into a sort of..." Peter swallows hard like the word is difficult for him to say. "affection."

"Affection?" You ask quietly. He nods swallowing again.

"Once I recognized it, I couldn't let it go. Now it's practically all I think about." He runs a hand over his face. "All of sudden I can't help myself from wanting to be around you all of the time. Wanting to make sure that you're safe. Hell, last night when you volunteered to come with me I practically sighed with relief, because if you were with me I would know you were safe. I thought I would be able to protect you. I was clearly very wrong, but I thought I could." You step closer to him, placing your hand over his on the counter. He spreads his fingers so that you can intertwine yours with his before he continues. "I...I'm so sorry Y/N. When Kali went for you I thought my heart was going to rip itself out of my chest in fear. I... I should have stopped her, should have been faster." His head hangs low, eyes on the floor.

"But you did protect me, Peter." You say barely more than a whisper. "You did everything you could to keep her away from me. Then you stayed with me. Took away my pain. Made sure that my brother and Derek got to me in time."

"She should have never laid a hand on you." He responds sternly. "You should never have been hurt to begin with. And last night Scott was right. I made the choice for Derek to give the bite. I took that choice away from you, because I was too selfish to risk letting you go."

"You were right to push for the bite!" You respond in disbelief, causing him to turn to you for the first since you entered the kitchen.

"What?"

"Peter, if you hadn't pushed for the bite I would be dead. I'm not, because of you. I'm alive because of you. Maybe, I wouldn't have asked for this outside of a near death experience, but I'm glad that it happened. I know things are going to just get more complicated now, but at least I have some way to fight back. Some way to protect myself! Peter, if anything I'm grateful!" You plead with him, your other hand on his jaw to make him look at you. "You made me stronger and more importantly you kept me alive. Thank you."

"You're sure that you're okay with this?" He asks, making sure to look you in the eye as you respond.

"I'm sure. I want this and..." you trail off, making him nervous.

"What is it?"

"I...I want you." Peter can't help but let himself smile at that for second, but then his mask comes down. That stupid smirk of his comes out.

"Now there's something for the Beacon Hills' Top Ten Worst Ideas list." He says pulling back a bit.

"I mean it Peter. I've developed my own...sort of affection, for you." You say quietly. He looks at you, rolling his eyes, but he can't quite hide the smile that crosses his face. He is practically giddy hearing it, but he is Peter, so he can't let himself admit it.

"I still don't think that's a very good idea." He says it mockingly, but the tone isn't quite right. There is an undertone of sincerity there that you can hear. When you don't respond to him, he continues. "Everyone would hate it, especially your brother. I think the funny one wouldn't shut up about it for at least a year. Derek would brood over it for months. And Lydia - " You cut off his rant taking both of his hands in yours.

"Peter, I. Don't. Care. Scott and Stiles and Derek and whoever else can complain about it all they want. I still want this, with you."

"You really do mean that, don't you?" Peter stares directly into your eyes and you nod. He finds himself nodding with you before he leans down and presses his lips to yours. It's a gentle kiss at first, but you put your arms around his neck to pull him closer and he can't help himself. He wraps his arms around you and deepens the kiss. You don't want him to stop, but all of a sudden he pulls his head away. Arms not leaving your waist. He's looking at the apartment door, then he turns to you.

"I forgot to make you call your brother and now he's here." Just as Peter finishes his sentence a loud knocking proceeds at the door.

"Y/N!!" Calls your brother's voice from the other side of the door.

"Well, this is going to be fun." You say looking at Peter, still smiling to yourself when you make eye contact with him.

[onlybeeewrites]

𝕆𝕟𝕝𝕪𝔹𝕖𝕖𝕖𝕎𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕤 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

Welcome to OnlyBeeeWrites Masterlist. Here you can find all of my published works and series as well as characters I write for.

If you don’t see a fandom you’d like it is most likely because I just haven’t written anything for that fandom yet.

If you don’t see a character, reach out and submit a request or ask if I write for them!

𝙻𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚞𝚙𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍: 𝟶𝟼.𝟹.𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟻 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝙶𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜:

Finnick Odair:

Echos

A Soothing Touch

I love you, I’m sorry (in the works)

Haymitch Abernathy:

Finding Magic

A Change of Plans 1 2

Not a Kid

Coriolanus Snow:

Angel Eyes

Sweet Lullaby

Second Thought

Used to be mine

Three’s a Crowd

Safe and Sound

Sejanus Plinth:

Until the Mockingjay Sings

Peeta Mellark: None yet

Katniss Everdeen: None yet

Lucy Gray: None yet

Johanna Mason: None yet

What are the Odds Series: 1 2

The Valley song Series: 1 2 3 4

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚐:

Whatever it Takes Series: 1 2 3

Xaden Riorson:

Shoulder to Cry on

Easy to Blame

Garrick Tavis: None yet

Bodhi Durran:

Out of Reach

Liam Miari: None yet

Aaric Graycastle:

Choose Me

Imogen Cardu: None yet

Violet Sorrengail: None yet

Rhiannon Mattis: None yet

Ridoc Gamlyn: None yet

Saywer Hennrick: None yet

Dain Aetos: None yet

Brennan Sorrengail: None yet

Mira Sorrengail: None yet

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

𝙰𝙲𝙾𝚃𝙰𝚁:

The Dance of Ash and Steel Series: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Rhysand: None yet

Feyre: None yet

Cassian: None yet

Azriel: None yet

Nesta: None yet

Elain: None yet

Lucien: None yet

Eris: None yet

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚜:

Anakin Skywalker

Nightmares

Miscellaneous:

A lost Jedi

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚗:

The Violinist series: 1 2

Benedict Bridgerton

A Toast

The Muse

Anthony Bridgerton: None yet

Colin Bridgerton: None yet

[sheslikealionimagines]

Ash and Aether ~ Part 7

Pairings: Gale Dekarios x Fem!OC 

Rating: G

Genre: Slow burn romance 

Words: 4.3k 

Status: Complete (14 parts + Epilogue)

Summary: Aryn, a self-taught mage with wild, instinctive magic, crosses paths with Gale, a brilliant but burdened wizard whose life is tethered to a volatile arcane secret. What begins as an uneasy alliance deepens into a partnership of intellect, trust, and unspoken yearning as they challenge each other’s beliefs—and slowly unravel the walls around their hearts. Together, they discover that the most powerful magic isn’t found in tomes or incantations, but in the quiet understanding between two souls brave enough to truly see one another.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been weeks since Elminster left the tower, and in that time, the air inside had changed.

The man’s absence was still felt — in the stray notes left scrawled in margins, in the way the tea kettle occasionally brewed itself, and in the now-faded arcane chalk he’d once flung across the practice chamber with theatrical flair. But what remained more strongly was the shape of what he’d stirred between them.

Aryn and Gale had fallen into a rhythm since then — long hours of shared research, evenings hunched over arcane blueprints with soft lamplight and scribbled corrections. The tower hummed with quiet energy, not from casting, but from companionship. Comfortable silences. Familiar glances. Aryn had learned the way Gale’s voice softened when he was lost in theory, the way he hummed when he was too tired to focus but too stubborn to stop. He’d learned her thinking face — brow furrowed, lower lip caught slightly between her teeth — and how she always sat cross-legged when reading, no matter how formal the room.

They were close.

But not yet close enough.

Because under the rhythm, something still sat unsaid. Gale had not had another surge since the night he collapsed into her arms — but he carried himself like he was waiting for the next one. Bracing for it. Not healing. Just surviving.

And today, she’d had enough of surviving.

They sat at the main table in the study. Scrolls, diagrams, and notes cluttered every surface, layered like leaves after a storm. Outside, dusk painted the windowpanes in pale blue.

Aryn slid a parchment toward him — her own writing, dense with notes and references to modified weave-severance rituals.

“You should look at this one,” she said, nudging it closer to his side. “It’s an adaptation of a Weave-splitting spell, combined with a stabilizing anchor. If we tune it right, it might redirect the orb’s worst surges into a fixed conduit—buy you time. Maybe even space.”

Gale didn’t look up. His eyes were shadowed with fatigue, and his fingers rested idle against his closed spellbook.

“Aryn…”

“I know it’s not perfect. But it’s sound. Elminster said—”

He stood abruptly, chair scraping loud against the stone. “I said no.”

Aryn blinked, caught off guard. “Gale, I’m not saying it’s a cure, but—”

“You’re saying you’ve found something that every archmage, relic-hunter, and half-mad theorist across Faerûn failed to discover for centuries?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp. Bitter. “You think if we just look hard enough, it’ll bend? That I’ll bend?”

“I think it’s worth trying,” she said, standing now, the scroll still between them. “Because the alternative is watching you give up.”

He turned from her, pacing toward the window like he needed distance from the very idea. “You don’t understand. This—this thing inside me, it wants control. It doesn’t want coexistence or compromise. It’s not some petulant spell we can trap in a lattice and calm with good intentions.”

“Then we find another way.”

“There is no other way!” he snapped, whirling back toward her. “There never has been. I’ve chased every thread, every lie dressed up as a theory. Every time I think I’m close, the Weave takes another piece of me for trying.”

Aryn stood her ground. Her voice was quiet, but it cut clean through the tension. “And now you’re too afraid to keep hoping.”

Gale froze.

That landed harder than anything else.

He stared at her — truly stared — and in his silence, the firelight flickered across something fragile in his face. Something that hadn’t fully shown itself in weeks of shared space, shared work.

He turned away again, slowly this time, hands braced on the windowsill.

His voice, when it came, was low. Raw.

“I can’t afford the hope that you still have.”

Aryn stepped forward, slowly. No closer than he would allow, but enough that he could hear her clearly.

“I don’t need you to believe in the ritual,” she said. “I just need you to believe that you’re not facing this alone.”

His hand curled against the windowsill.

And then—he spoke again, quietly. Not defensive this time. Just tired.

“I’m afraid, Aryn.”

She didn’t interrupt as Gale stared out the window. The city was quiet, bathed in the dim glow of distant lanterns, and for a moment, he let himself pretend the world was still.

“I’m so afraid,” he said, his voice quieter this time. 

“Afraid of what?” she asked gently, her voice soft with the care she had long since learned to give him.

He turned then, though he didn’t meet her gaze. His eyes were distant, lost in a memory or a thought. His jaw tightened, the weight of his words heavy even before he said them.

“I’m afraid of losing control,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Of the orb inside me. Of what it could do if—if I can’t keep it contained.”

Aryn’s heart squeezed at the rawness in his voice. She pushed back from the table, standing up to move closer, but still, he didn’t meet her eyes.

“I’ve lived with it for so long,” he continued, the vulnerability in his tone unexpected. “I’ve made myself believe I could manage it. That I could keep it from destroying everything. But every time it surges… every time I feel it pulling at me, I wonder if I’m just one moment away from losing everything. From losing myself.”

There was a long pause as Aryn took a cautious step toward him, sensing the magnitude of what he was confessing.

“You’re not alone in this,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of truth she didn’t need to think about. “I’m here.”

He shook his head, eyes still focused on something far away. “It’s not just the orb, Aryn. It’s what it makes me. Who I become when I lose control. I’ve always been alone with this… but now, with you here, I can’t help but wonder if I’m going to drag you down with me. If I can’t control it, if it breaks me… I don’t want you to be caught in the wreckage.”

Her heart ached. He was offering her something no one else had seen — the fear that lived beneath his bravado, beneath the careful control he so often tried to project.

“Aryn,” he said, his voice hoarse now, as he finally met her gaze. “I don’t know if I can protect you from the things inside me. From the dark parts of me that I can’t even control.”

Aryn reached out, her hand gently touching his arm. Her fingers curled softly against his sleeve, grounding him, as she looked up into his eyes. There was no hesitation in her voice when she spoke.

“You don’t have to protect me from anything, Gale,” she said, her voice steady and sure. “Not from the parts of you that you think are broken, not from the magic that scares you. Not from the man you think you’re hiding. I’m here, with you, through all of it.”

He stared at her, his breath shallow. There was something vulnerable in his expression, something raw, that he usually kept hidden.

“I’m not as strong as you think,” he whispered. “I’m afraid of failing you. Of failing everyone.”

Aryn’s hand slowly moved to his, her touch firm but gentle, an anchor in the storm of his thoughts.

“You’ve never failed me, Gale,” she said softly, her voice full of quiet conviction. “You’re not alone in this. Not now. Not ever.”

For a long moment, they simply stood there, the silence between them no longer heavy with unspoken fears, but filled with a quiet understanding. Gale’s chest rose and fell with the weight of his breath, the walls he had so carefully built around his heart slipping just a little.

And in that small, fragile moment, he allowed himself to believe what she had said.

Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to carry this burden alone anymore.

Gale looked down at their joined hands — hers steady, his trembling ever so slightly, as though her touch had reminded him of the earth beneath his feet. Of the reality he’d tried so hard to keep separate from the storm inside.

His voice, when it returned, was quieter than before. No longer raw with fear, but threaded with something gentler. Regret.

“I’m sorry, Aryn,” he said. “For snapping. For shutting you out when all you’ve ever done is try to help me… to see me.”

She didn’t flinch or pull away. Just let the apology settle between them like a final rune in a long-cast spell.

“I know you’re scared,” she said, her thumb brushing softly across the back of his hand. “But you don’t have to face it like you’re still alone in that tower.”

He let out a slow, shaky breath — one that felt like it had been waiting days to escape. And then, to her quiet surprise, he gave a small, tired laugh. The kind that only came after surviving a long battle with oneself.

“This is the part where I’m supposed to say something noble and selfless, isn’t it?” he murmured. “But all I can think right now is… thank you. For not walking away.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, and she meant it.

Outside, the dusk had deepened into night, the stars beginning to blink through the veil of twilight above the city. The last of the lamplight flickered gold across the edges of the scrolls on the table, catching the softened lines in Gale’s expression as he looked at her — really looked, this time. Not with distance, or wariness, or fear. But with something warmer.

Grateful. Open. A little undone.

She gave his hand one last squeeze, then let go slowly, allowing the quiet to return without weight.

“I’ll make tea,” she said, stepping back toward the hearth.

“And I,” he said, gathering the scroll she had offered, “will read this properly. Without judgment this time.”

Their eyes met, and something passed between them — unspoken but understood. Not resolution. Not yet. But a beginning again.

And in the quiet that followed, the tower didn’t feel so heavy. It felt, for the first time in a long while, like home.

~

The hour had slipped past midnight again.

The candles on the long table had burned low, their flames small and steady, casting soft gold light across scattered parchments and half-drunk cups of tea. The tower was quiet but for the occasional pop from the hearth and the whispering turn of pages. Outside, the world had long since fallen asleep beneath a blanket of stars and slow-moving mist.

Gale exhaled softly, setting his quill aside.

Across the table, Aryn had stilled.

Her cheek rested against her folded arms, hair slipping loose from its braid in soft strands that curled around her face. One of the spellbooks they’d been pouring over all evening lay open beside her, a line of notes unfinished in her tidy handwriting. Her breathing was slow, even — a rhythm that grounded the room more than any ward could.

He allowed himself to look at her.

Really look.

The dim light softened her features, made her look younger somehow. Or maybe just more at peace. The firelight danced against the curve of her jaw, the faint smudge of ink near the side of her wrist. She’d pushed herself hard tonight, same as every night for the past two weeks. Insisting they search for more — for alternate paths, anchoring rituals, anything that might bend the inevitable.

She always stayed. Even when he shut down. Even when he turned away.

He stood slowly, the legs of his chair making the barest sound as he rose. Quietly, carefully, he stepped around the table, his eyes never leaving her face.

A pause.

Then, with a slow movement, he slipped the outer cloak from his shoulders and draped it around her. The fabric pooled gently over her arms and back, tugged by gravity but softened by care. She didn’t stir — not beyond a faint shift of her fingers beneath her cheek.

His hand hovered for a breath.

Then, with something achingly tender in his motion, Gale reached down and brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. Just once. A feather’s touch, like a spell not fully cast.

The warmth of her skin, the softness of the moment — it caught him in the chest. Not sharply. Not like the pain of loss or the fear that usually haunted him. But something else. A different ache.

He had been careful for so long. With his words, his emotions, the edges of his hope. But this—this was creeping past his carefulness.

He was beginning to feel it more clearly now. The way her presence eased something inside him. How her stubbornness had become a kind of lighthouse in the fog he lived with daily. Her humor, her steadiness, her unshakable need to stay beside him no matter how often he tried to shoulder everything alone.

It frightened him.

But it also made the quiet seem less like a void and more like a place he could breathe.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, so softly it barely left his lips. “But gods help me, I don’t want to lose you either.”

She didn’t wake. Only shifted slightly, deeper into rest.

He watched her for a moment longer. Then, with a breath drawn to settle something inside him, Gale turned and stepped away.

He climbed the spiral stairs slowly, feet quiet against the worn stone, his hand trailing along the carved banister. The upper chambers waited — cool, silent, the stars just visible through the high arched windows.

But tonight, he paused at the landing before going in.

And glanced back down the stairwell, where the faintest glow from the study still lingered.

He wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring.

But tonight, Aryn had fallen asleep beside him — and for the first time in too long, he let that be enough.

~ 

The upper chamber of the tower was wrapped in stillness.

Outside, Baldur’s Gate slumbered beneath a soft wash of moonlight, the harbor bells chiming faintly through drifting fog. But inside, the air hung thick with the scent of damp stone, old vellum, and the lingering bitterness of expended magic. Candles guttered low, their light casting long shadows against walls lined with books too ancient to trust and spells too volatile to ignore.

Gale stood near the arched window, arms folded tightly across his chest, the chill of the glass seeping faintly through his sleeve. His gaze swept the rooftops below without seeing them. He wasn’t watching the city.

He was listening — to the slow beat of the orb buried beneath his skin, steady as a second heart. Always there. Always waiting.

His thoughts spiraled: calculations half-finished, theories dismissed, incantations etched into his mind like old wounds. He should’ve been working. Should’ve been preparing. But tonight, the weight of possibility pressed too hard against his ribs.

The silence of the tower broke not with a knock, but with a shimmer of presence—an old magic settling like dust on the air.

Gale turned sharply, breath catching. The wards hadn’t flared. No footsteps echoed on the stairs. But still—he felt it. The subtle shift in the Weave. The unmistakable gravity of someone very old, and veryfamiliar.

He crossed the chamber in three quick strides and threw open the balcony doors.

There, leaning with casual indifference against the stone balustrade as if he’d always belonged there, stood Elminster.

A half-smile tugged at the old wizard’s face, lined and knowing. “Evening, lad,” he said, voice light as wind through leaves. “Thought we might have a quiet word.”

“Elminster,” Gale said, blinking, his voice laced with genuine surprise.

The old mage tipped his wide-brimmed hat, silver hair glinting faintly in the candlelight. “Still keeping the witching hours, I see.”

Gale stepped aside without hesitation. “Come in.”

Elminster did, his cloak trailing smoke-scented air behind him. He moved like someone who’d traveled through more than mere miles — his boots dusted with ash, his staff marked with fresh scorch lines.

“I was passing through,” Elminster said breezily, though no one simply passed through Baldur’s Gate, let alone Gale’s tower unannounced. “Heard rumors. Tattered scrolls changing hands. Containment research. A stubborn archmage losing sleep.”

Gale arched an eyebrow. “I suppose I should thank you for the concern.”

“Oh, lad, concern’s too small a word. I brought something.” He unfastened a leather case from beneath his cloak, its surface worn but still embossed with protective glyphs. “Took a bit of digging. And no small amount of groveling.”

Gale accepted it with reverence. His fingers trembled as he unclasped the case and unrolled the contents across the nearest table.

A single strip of parchment lay inside, aged to near-fragility, covered in runes that shimmered faintly even without spellwork to activate them. At one corner, silver ink spiraled in a seal he recognized instantly.

Halaster Blackcloak’s line.

Gale inhaled sharply. “Is this…”

“The Tower of Rauvin’s End,” Elminster said, voice low. “Forgotten place, mostly. East of the Winding Wood. She — Halaster’s apprentice — was experimenting with wild magic anchors there. Theory said to draw from Netherese stabilizers without burning the caster.”

“If this is authentic…”

“Then it might give you more than time,” Elminster said. “It might give you leverage.”

Gale didn’t speak for a long moment. He stared down at the glyphs, the world narrowing to the map, to the possibility that flickered like flame against the dark.

At last, he looked up. “Why me?”

The older mage’s expression softened. “Because you’re clever enough to see what others overlook — and just foolish enough to act on it.”

Gale gave a dry, weary laugh. “Come with me, then.”

But Elminster shook his head, a shadow of something older — and sadder — passing through his eyes. “My time chasing ruins is behind me. And besides, you’ve already got someone willing to follow you into fire.”

Gale stiffened, the words brushing too close to something unspoken.

“She’s not—”

“She’s with you,” Elminster said, quietly. “Which is far more important.”

Gale didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. The truth hung in the air like smoke — undeniable, no matter how tightly he tried to contain it.

Elminster gave a knowing smile and rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. “Be careful, Gale. The Weave remembers. And some magic wakes hungry.”

And then, with a whisper of displaced air and the sharp scent of ozone, he vanished.

Gale stood in the silence that followed, the weight of the parchment still heavy in his hands.

He stared at the fragment for a long moment before walking slowly to the central table and laying it flat. His palm hovered over the inked glyphs. A breath. Then contact. The Weave responded — just slightly — curling beneath his fingers like the beginning of a promise.

The orb inside him pulsed sharply in reply, as if it too had been listening.

A path forward. A perilous one. But a path.

And for the first time in days, Gale didn’t feel quite so paralyzed.

He turned from the table, exhaled, and crossed the chamber, his footsteps quiet on stone as he climbed the narrow spiral staircase toward the tower’s uppermost level.

Toward stars, silence, and thought.

But as he ascended, his mind wasn’t on Halaster, or the ruins, or even the orb.

It was on a young mage asleep at the study table downstairs — still wrapped in his cloak.

And the fact that for once, he wasn’t walking into danger alone.

~ 

The tower was hushed in the way only early morning could bring — not silent, but reverent. The hearth had long since burned low, leaving only a few red embers beneath gray ash. The candlelight had faded to soft wax pools, and the papers scattered across the table bore the slight curl of humidity, as though the night had exhaled.

Aryn stirred slowly.

Her first awareness was of warmth — a deep, lingering warmth pressed against her shoulders and back. Not the ambient kind. Not the brittle, flickering heat of spellwork. This was something softer. Something worn.

She blinked against the dimness, lifting her head from where it had rested on her folded arms. Her neck ached faintly. Her braid was half-undone, and ink smudged the edge of her wrist.

And she was covered in a cloak that wasn’t hers.

Aryn froze.

It was too heavy, too finely stitched, too steeped in a scent she recognized instantly — old paper, citrus soap, something sharp and arcane clinging to the folds. Gale’s.

The realization hit her gently, but deeply. She sat up slowly, fingers curling around the edge of the cloak where it draped across her lap.

He’d covered her.

She let out a soft breath, eyes scanning the room.

No Gale. Just the whisper of pages turned by the wind. The faint breeze sneaking in through the cracked high window.

But his presence lingered. In the stillness. In the tea cup pushed just slightly out of place from where he’d last sat. In the folded edge of his cloak, where he’d clearly knelt to place it around her shoulders with deliberate care.

Her throat tightened.

Aryn had never known magic to feel like this — not the kind in books or fire or force. But the kind in gestures. In choices. In the smallest, most deliberate acts of thoughtfulness.

She had seen Gale weary. Sharp. Controlled. Walled-off. And lately, unraveling in tiny, cautious increments.

But this… this was something else.

She drew the cloak tighter around her, fingers brushing over the clasp near the collar, half-expecting to feel his pulse still woven into the fabric. The scent of him — warm, faintly spiced — brought with it an ache she couldn’t quite name. Not desire. Not yet. But the echo of something blooming.

Aryn stared at the spot across the table where he’d sat the night before, all fire-eyed focus and trembling restraint. She could still hear his voice. The way it broke when he confessed his fear. The way he looked at her, like maybe — just maybe — he was beginning to believe she could stay.

She smiled softly to herself, her expression caught between affection and something more solemn.

“I’m still here,” she murmured aloud. As if he might hear her, wherever he was now. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

A soft creak echoed down from the staircase — quiet enough to be missed, unless you were listening for it.

Aryn looked up, still wrapped in his cloak, just as Gale appeared at the top of the steps.

He paused when he saw her awake. His expression was unreadable at first, eyes flicking briefly from her face to the cloak draped around her shoulders, then to the table where the scrolls still lay in quiet disarray. His hand rested lightly on the railing, as though grounding himself.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said softly, voice low with the remnants of the night.

“You didn’t,” Aryn replied, just as quiet. “The hearth did.”

He gave a faint smile, tired but genuine. “Betrayed by my own fire. How poetic.”

Gale descended the last few steps, his robes shifting faintly around him. The early light from the windows caught the edge of his jaw, his eyes darker than usual — not with shadow, but with depth. Thought. The kind that hadn’t left him since Elminster’s visit.

Aryn didn’t move from her seat. She only looked at him, searching his face for any new cracks or sharp edges. There were none. Only something softer. Warmer. Guarded still, but not so far out of reach.

“Did you stay up there long?” she asked gently.

He nodded, brushing a hand through his hair. “Long enough. I needed time to think.”

Her fingers curled around the edge of his cloak where it hung loose over her lap. “And did the stars offer anything useful?”

He crossed to the table, pausing just beside her chair. “Not answers. But… maybe the right questions.”

There was a quiet between them then. But it wasn’t tense. Just full.

Her gaze dropped for a moment, thumb brushing lightly over the embroidered seam near her collar. “You left this,” she said, voice softer now. “I thought I dreamt it at first.”

“I didn’t want you to wake cold,” he said simply.

She looked back up at him — and this time, he met her gaze fully.

There was a stretch of silence that passed like a held breath.

“You don’t have to keep protecting me from everything,” Aryn said. “Even yourself.”

Gale’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t look away.

“I know,” he said. “I’m just still… learning how not to.”

Her smile was small, but real. “We both are.”

He reached out then — a careful, almost hesitant motion — and adjusted the edge of the cloak around her shoulder, fingers brushing just briefly against her collarbone. It wasn’t necessary. She was already wrapped in it. But the gesture carried something quiet and personal.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For staying. For listening. For giving me the chance to… try.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that,” she murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Gale let his hand fall back to his side. The silence between them settled again, not awkward or heavy — but companionable, like a warm room after a long night.

“Tea?” he asked at last.

Aryn gave him a slow nod. “Only if you’re the one making it. Your blend is better.”

His lips quirked upward in something that wasn’t quite a smile but carried the shape of one. “That I can do.”

He turned toward the hearth, already summoning a small flicker of flame in his palm.

And behind him, Aryn watched — the cloak still around her, the morning light slowly filling the room, and something tender blooming between them, quiet and sure.

Not everything needed to be named.

Some things were better felt.

[atomic--peach]

Her Grace's Handmaiden

Imagine being Cersei's favorite handmaid.

Cersei Lannister x Fem Reader

(Is it Not SFW, or do you just have a dirty mind?)

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

"Y/N, where are you?"

The Queen tone was bordering on annoyance, a dangerous position to be in especially for you.

"Coming Your Grace," You hustled through the bed chamber door toting a heavy pitcher of Arbor Gold. "I've fetched your favorite, Your Grace."

"Hm" Cersei sniffed, leaning back on her chaise and kicking off her silken slippers. She had spent hours tending to the court, hearing complaints and requests in her drunken husband's stead while Jon Arryn kept busy with the small council.

She outstretched her chalice and watched as you filled it to the perfect level, as you had a million times before.

"Leave the pitcher" she grumbled. "Come around here and let me look at you."

You set the pitcher down and moved to kneel before your queen, if she was feeling generous the queen might have thrown a pillow down to rest your knees on, but this was not one of those days. You knew what she was looking for. She wanted to make sure you were clean and well kept.

It was a privilege to be allowed to serve the queen so closely, and you had to maintain a certain standard to earn that privilege.

"Chin up"

You obeyed, skin prickling as the queen looked you over with sharp green eyes. Her face was stony as the great wall in the North, and just as icy. Her eyes tracked from your knees, up your body over your neck and face, sipping slowly as she took all of you in.

"Go drawl my bath, then come back to help me undress." The queen broke her gaze, leaning back on the chaise once more.

You moved as quickly as your feet could take you. Sharply you ordered hot water to be brought by the bucket full before carefully setting out the queen's scented oils and soaps. Everything needed to be perfect. Absolutely nothing could be out of place.

Cersei was still lounging when you came back, watching you carefully as you stood with your eyes down cast, waiting.

"Everything is in order?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"The water is being drawn?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"And the fire has been lit?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

Cersei's lips pulled back in satisfied smirk, rising slowly before approaching you. She got so close, your breath caught in your throat. You could smell her perfume, the scent of incense from the sept, and the aroma of wine wafting off of her, intoxicating your senses.

The queen turned her back to you, her golden hair almost tickling your nose.

"Undress me"

Your face flushed involuntarily as you began to carefully unfasted every tie and button of her gown, peeling off each layer with care until the queen was bare and her skin prickled in the night air.

"Your robe, Your Grace" You moved to close the silked garment over her body, but instead Cersei brushed you aside and moved to the large tub of hammered copper which had been filled with water and kept warm by a small fire.

You followed behind her dutifully, taking her hand to assist her in and then standing aside until you were needed.

The Queen groaned lowly as the hot water ebbed the tension from her muscles.

"The brush" She ordered lazily, leaning back as you scooped up an ivory handled brush and sat behind her to carefully brush the queen's golden locks until they shone in the firelight.

"You have such tender hands" The queen sighed, the sensation of her brush stroking her from scalp to tip soothing her into relaxation.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"How long have you been here now? Not very long"

"A few months, You Grace" you confirmed.

"That's right" she nodded. "How are you finding service in the castle then?"

"Very well, Your Grace" you swallowed, feeling that the question was loaded in some way. "I am very grateful for the privilege."

"I'm sure" the queen agreed. "Come around here, my legs ache."

You set the brush aside and stifled a gasp as Cersei raised a leg from the tub, slick with water and scented oils.

"Rub them for me"

You nodded, holding your breath as the queen draped the leg over your shoulder and allowed you to knead and rub her muscles into submission.

"Do you feel worthy?" Cersei watched you carefully "Of the privilege you've been given?"

You swallowed hard, "Not remotely, Your Grace"

"I disagree" Cersei grabbed her wine glass and took another long drink. "Do you dare to disagree with your queen?"

"N-no, Your Grace, never" You shook your head. "I suppose I have a limited view of the situation. Surely your grace knows better than I."

"Well said" Cersei looked almost impressed, stifling a groan as you found a particularly tight muscle in her calf.

Once she finished her first glass, and then a second, Cersei sighed and pulled herself from the water.

"My robe, Y/n"

"Yes, Your Grace"

You wrapped the robe around your queen carefully, blushing as the thing fabric clung to her wet body.

"Many Targaryen queens had a habit of keeping their handmaids close by." Cersei spoke firmly, in a tone that told you what she was about to say was very important. "You will not be sleeping in the servant's quarters anymore. Instead, I will have a cot brought so you will sleep in here."

Your blush widened across your face and your heart fluttered. "O-Of course, Your Grace. Thank you, I am most grateful."

"I would also have you come with me to The North." Cersei pulled a disgusted face, "The King has decreed we are all to go, to visit the Warden of The North. I will depend upon you to keep the journey bearable."

You were overtaken with emotion, dropping into a low curtsey.

"I am most honored in your trust in me, Your Grace. I will not let you down."

"Good Girl" Cersei grinned with a flash of her cat-like eyes. "Now, turn down my bed, I am tired."

[fandom-imagination-ss]

Imagine: Clark over hears you gossiping over Superman at work 😳 ***warning Mature conversation********

it was painfully boring at work today. you did your Daily upbeat post for the mail. and the online accounts. you Specialized in Happy posts. it helped that you were suppose to Only write Happy posts. and uplifting things. on the website you posted three happy posts about a cat that is a Co manager at a home depot who works Very hard to make sure the place is rodent free and how the cat is no stranger to bribes. Another Post that you needed to get Special permission by Lois Lane who was the "Superman expert" to post.. which was just Superman was caught helping a kid get it's ball back when the kid kicked it up in a tree. and then how the Kid and Superman did a foot race to see who was faster. and Little Thomas Hilga was the fastes boy alive.

Lois has always been so Protective over whatever was said about Superman. in the beginning you didn't understand her need to protect the man of steel. But after discovering the truth of Who was Superman. it was clear why!

you use to babysit the twins when they lived in the city. and they went out for date night. Or they went on mini trips. So when they asked you come over to their farm for a week to watch the boys. since Jonathan was in trouble and they didn't feel comfortable to leave him alone. you happily agreed. and well- Clark flew back home to scream at Jordan for something he did. and you saw Clark.. Clark didn't even have a good excuse to why he was Flying.. But after sitting you down explaining who he was. the Only thing you could come up with was that you couldn't understand why he bothers with he's truck. he could just simply Fly everywhere.

that was months ago. and Now today, you messaged Clark asking for permission and he's Now ex Wife Lois. the week getaway was apparently their "fix your marriage "holiday which ended with Lois confessing she's hating Smallville, and she wanted to go back doing dangerous assignments.. and She has been doing more dangerous assignments, but she still was still incharge of Superman. Mainly for another year before she will decline writing for him. they didn't want to break it off. with superman and Lois right after the divioice so people didn't notice.

But Since work was doen for the day, or well you could probably search for more positivity posts to post other today or tomorrow but why overwork yourself? it was a Hot Friday afternoon, an Hour before you could leave. and it was so boring and quiet in the work room that no one was really working.

"My God looks at that ass!" you turned seeing your deskmate who worked beside you on her desk. was staring at a close up photo of Superman's Ass. on her screen. you laughed softly, "Why you looking at his ass?"

Cassandra didn't turn her face from the screen as she spoke, "I just want to bite it.. Lois is so lucky to have his rumpus ass to herself. Im sure he's happy that her and Clark broke up- if they ever stopped their. fun.. that is."

Rolling your e/c, you felt like they almost rolled out of your eyes socket with how badly you rolled them. ''Oh Please! Superman is a true gent... he wouldn't be hooking up with Lois on the side. while she was married." it helped that he wouldn't be a sidepiece. but she didn't need to know that as Cassandra scrolled the screen from his butt to up his frame to his face.

"you know- he probably has a super tongue." she grinned at that, Cassandra is the Core reason why the last several Hr meetings about work place conduct About he appropriate work chat.. and talking about if Superman had a "Super tongue" was Not work safe conversation.

you knew it.. you also Knew who Superman was. but you looked at Clark faces and were Stunned with How stupid the entire world is that we didn't recognized that the hotty in the office was Superman... who wasn't IN the office. right now.

"Clearly has Super attractiveness." Cassandra rolled her eyes, 'that isn't a superpower! but Super tongue is!"

you turned to her as you spoke, "Super Tongue isn't a Super power! what? does Superman Do with a Super tongue? Confuse the crooks with a tongue twister?"

"or give them the best orgasm with he's tongue"

you gasped covering your mouth as Cassandra leaned back on her chair probably imagining it. you couldn't lie.. the imagine popped in your mind of Superman doing that to you. No doubt in your mind.. Clark Was amazing in the bedroom. but of course you couldn't comment. you were litterally friends with Clark. and thinking of him in that way was. 1) incredibly inappropriate 2) made you feel uneasy Now talking about how amazing his technique is in the bedroom.3) friends dont' talk about how amazing you imagine Clark is in bed.

"you know-.. Im not in the mood for another sexual harassment meeting.. " you shifted away trying to retreat back to your computer. but Cassandra spoke, "God could you imagine oif he was Seflish and lazy in the sack? how disappointing.. probably does the Leo DiCaprio thing and just lays there."

"No way, I've seen walking a old lady across the street.. Superman is probably the sort who makes sure he's partner si completely satisficed before worrying about his own needs." you didn't mean to comment you Should of just nodded in agreement with Cassandra and changed the conversation to a dog you were going to post tomorrow. but you didn't think- it just came out. and Just as Clark walked in completely Stunned at your statement as you truned to Cassandra as you spoke, "So Im posting a dog video tomorrow. of a saint gently pulling his owner off the sofa and stealing the sofa for himself.. you want to see the video?"

"Nah- i hate your fluff pieces.. Hey.. after work- lets go othat new bar. and find you someone to completely satisfice you eever need." Cassandra was married, She doesn't touch but she does Love getting some guy to get her free drinks and trying to set you up. with some random guy for the night.

"as fun as a random hook up is- Call me old fashion but I rather sleep with someone i have a emotional attachment with."

Cassandra looked around the room seeing Clark was back at his desk as She spoke, 'well- Clark is free.. or Tony but trust me.. ive rode that horse before.. Not much to write about.."

"you do know- if the men talked like this.. so openly it woudl be us calling them fifthly Pigs.. and HR woudl be Up thier butts in a heartbeat."

"the advantage of sleepign with HR. . he knows if he gets me in troulbe at work. he gets None at home." you shook your head chuckling, "your horrible." she chuckled as she spoke, 'and yet I didn't hear you deny Clark."

you looked up at her as you spoke, 'he's my friend. I babysit his kids!!"

"you could make him a third.." you gasped saying whay as she laughed patting your back, "God your so easy!"

she let the conversation die after that. switcing to look at a photo of the new deputy mayor who was attractive. as you spent the next hour. Hoping Clark was too busy to listen into the conversation.. that he probably heard his name. and heard you both talking about him..

After work you packed to leave seeing Clkar was taking his time he rarely comes into the office. he picked up freelance gigs onc eLois left to help pay for the farm. you got up heading to the elevator saying Night to Clark as he walked over following you to the elevator "hey."

"hey" you said uneasy.. as he spoke, "why were you and Cassandra talking about superman sexual abilities?" your cheeks burned a deep red as Clark chuckled as you explaiend how it all happened as he spoke, "Super tongue isn't a real thing." you laughed saying thats what you said. as Clark leaned lower as he spoke, "those Lois did make comments that she thought it was.." your cheeks couldn't go any redder as Clark smiled seeing you.

he couldn't deny that since he broke up with Lois the Only women who caugh his attention was you. but he always figured you were off limits since you were you.. but listening to you and Cassandra chatting about Superman sexual abilities he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like with you. Clark has only ever been with Lois you snapped Clark out of his day dream of you and him as you spoke, 'can I still come over? or did that conversation completely gross you out?"

Clark smiled weakly, "No of course not, those surprised to hear you talking like that at work." you laughed covering your mouth, "Cassandra started it! I tried to shut it down!" you both lauhged as you spoke, "you mad at me for that?"

he shook his head, 'nah, it's okay honestly those. the boys will be out. you okay with just us?"

"yea of course.. I'll bring the beer?" Clark smile dsaying okay as the elevator door opened as you walked out. Clark realized at that moment that he needed you.. and he was falling for you. he's best friend.

[my-fandom-imagine]

Imagine you were Evelyn’s newest foster child and ran away after she died, then being found by Jack and Bobby.

“They were going to put me back in the system, I chose not to go.”

[sharkie-fandom-scribbles]

HELLO! This is @theendsongabyssxv! I’ve created this blog as a creative outlet for my writings. I’ll be making drabbles and one shots, imagines, SMAUs and maybe even full length fics! This is open to any fandom I’m involved in, which I’ll list below. Requests are open but I’ll close them when I reach 5. I hope you enjoy!

I’ll write SFW/NSFW content. All characters are 18+.

FANDOMS I WILL CREATE FOR (subject to change and I reserve the right to refuse any prompt or character):

Hazbin Hotel

Helluva Boss

Attack On Titan

Jujutsu Kaisen

OnePiece (OPLA included)

Fullmetal Alchemist

Dragonball Z

Naruto

Harry Potter

Lord of the Rings

The Hobbit

Haikyûu!!

Outlast

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

My Hero Academia

Clannad

Fallout 4

Skyrim

Morrowind

Dragon Age

Bungo Stray Dogs (S1 only, currently binging)

Black Clover (S1 only, currently binging)

YuYu Hakusho

Supernatural

Teen Wolf

Marvel/MCU

Demon Slayer

Fruits Basket

Yu-Gi-Oh! (S0-S4)

Uncharted

Tokyo Revengers

…

I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY THIS BLOG, I AM VERY EXCITED TO START WORKING!!

-Sharkie (she/her)

[imagine-all-the-fandoms]

I might or might have not started a new fic, after what feels like ages...

Here's a little sneak peak if anyone is interested in this ever getting posted here:

Placing yourself on his lap, you felt him grow harder through his jeans, his eyes completely blown with lust as he looks up at you, leaning back on the sheets.

Kelly’s hands opened the know of your bathrobe, giving him a better view of what’s hidden beneath..

@callsign-dexter It might be your fault you got my mind leading to much dirtier thoughts then expected !

[myfictionalboyfriendsandme]

Masterlist

Harry Potter

Theodore Nott

Tell Me I'm Not Dreaming

The Outsiders

Sodapop Curtis

Such a Gentleman

Star Wars

Cassian Andor

Insomnia

Speechless

The Power of Seduction

People To Avoid

My Hero

Young Guns

Chavez y Chavez

Wuthering Heights

[16th-of-a-twigg]

He's just sleeping he's just sleeping he's just sleeping he's jus

Ko-Fi

[magical-reid]

The Soldier and His Mission

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Summary: When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Bucky went still.

One second, the mission was wrapping up—just another Hydra facility wiped off the map, just another set of goons taken down. The next, something triggered him. A phrase muttered in Russian over a radio, the faintest crackle of a long-dead handler’s voice. You saw the shift in his posture before he even turned around, the telltale tightening of his jaw, the blankness overtaking those usually warm blue eyes.

Bucky Barnes was gone.

The Winter Soldier stood in his place.

And yet—he didn’t hurt you.

Not when he turned to face the team, his body language bristling with danger. Not when Steve hesitated before stepping forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. And certainly not when you cautiously called his name, your voice softer than the others.

Instead, the Soldier moved between you and everyone else.

A shield.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Tower, you thought the episode would pass. That maybe, after a few hours, after enough familiar sights and sounds, Bucky would shake it off like he always did.

But the Soldier wasn’t leaving. And he had decided you were his mission.

Not to eliminate.

To protect.

At first, it was just hovering. You moved—he followed. You sat—he stood at your back, ever watchful. The others gave him space, exchanging worried glances when they thought you weren’t looking. Steve was tense, obviously trying to figure out how to break through, while Tony was less patient about it.

“This is a problem,” Stark declared after the first few hours, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “I mean, I hate to be the one to say it, but we have a fully armed, brainwashed assassin in the Tower again, and we all know how that went last time.”

“He’s not attacking anyone,” Natasha pointed out.

“Yet,” Tony shot back.

You ignored the argument as best you could, focusing instead on cooking something for Bucky—something normal, something familiar, something that might ground him. His eyes tracked you the entire time.

Then you miscalculated the heat on the stove.

The oil in the pan hissed and spat, and a second later, you hissed too as a sharp sting bloomed across your palm. You barely had time to react before there was a sudden blur of motion.

Bucky was on you instantly.

His flesh hand gripped your wrist, his metal one hovering protectively over the stove, as if it had personally attacked you. His face was unreadable, but his grip was firm, his hold gentle as he examined the burn.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, but he wasn’t listening.

Instead, he took the cold pack you hadn’t even reached for yet and pressed it carefully to your palm, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed in focus. You exchanged a look with Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, and the Captain exhaled, something like relief flashing in his eyes.

He was still in there.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Soldier continued shadowing you for the next two days, much to Tony’s frustration. But as Natasha had pointed out—he wasn’t hurting anyone.

Unless they posed a threat to you.

That was something Steve learned firsthand during a sparring session. You had barely landed a hit before Bucky, watching from the sidelines, had moved. The next thing you knew, Steve was on his ass, blinking up at the ceiling, while Bucky stood between you like a human wall, eyes cold and calculating.

“For the record,” Steve grunted as he sat up, rubbing his ribs, “I was letting her win.”

Bucky wasn’t convinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t until you needed a medical checkup that things really came to a head.

“Barnes, I have to actually examine her,” Dr. Cho said patiently, eyeing where Bucky stood between you and the med bay’s equipment.

“No,” he replied flatly.

“Bucky—” you tried.

“The room is secure.”

“That’s not the—”

“She does not require assistance.”

“I do require assistance,” you corrected. “Because I burned my hand and twisted my shoulder thanks to a certain super soldier overreacting in the gym.”

Bucky didn’t move.

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” you said, shifting tactics. “Then stay.”

That got his attention.

“If you want to make sure nothing happens to me,” you reasoned, “then you can stay here. But you have to let the doctor check me out.”

His expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity—

“…Understood.”

Progress.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When it finally broke, it wasn’t dramatic.

There was no grand trigger, no huge revelation.

Just a moment of quiet.

You had fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion finally winning after two days of Bucky’s overprotective hovering. When you woke up, it was to warm hands gently brushing over your wrist—both flesh and metal, but softer this time, as if relearning the feeling of touching you.

And then you heard it—his breath hitching.

A tiny, barely-there sound, but one filled with something raw.

You blinked sleepily, looking up.

Bucky was staring at you. Not the Soldier. Bucky.

His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes wide—his real eyes.

“…Doll?” His voice cracked over the word, like it had been caught in his throat.

You smiled sleepily, shifting so your fingers curled around his. “Hey, Buck.”

His exhale was shaky. His shoulders sagged. And when you tugged him down to you, he didn’t resist.

He just buried his face in your neck and held on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” you murmured later, your fingers absentmindedly running through his hair as he rested against you.

“I know,” he admitted, voice rough.

“You threw Steve like a ragdoll.”

“…Yeah.”

“…Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

A laugh. Quiet, but real.

And just like that, Bucky Barnes was back.

[the-bat-writes-imagines]

Scars - Part 1

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Soulmate AU)

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader

Story Type: Angst/Fluff

Warnings: Violence, Discussion of Past Trauma, Reader with Visible Facial Scar

Summary: Soulmate!AU Where werewolves can have soulmates, and they can feel each other's pain. It's very subtle until you're near each other, then the closer you are the stronger it becomes. This will only stop once soulmates have their first kiss. The reader is Derek's Soulmate and moves to town to teach chemistry at the local high school. Derek knows who you are as soon as he sees you because of a distinctive scar, but he is afraid to let you know. Of course, it becomes harder and harder for him to hide it.

First day as a teacher, no big deal, right? Nope, it's going to be easy! At least that's what you keep telling yourself. Except somehow this feels exactly like walking into high school for the first day did. Which means you are literally shaking with nerves as you down your second cup of coffee and make your way into the chemistry lab. This is your first ever real teaching job. No more TA'ing for a middle school science teacher, no more grad school classes. This is it. You are responsible for whether or not these kids succeed in this class. That pressure coupled with the fact that your predecessor was murdered by serial killer the previous semester really was not making it easy to put forth a facade of calm.

Then there was the scar. It ran from just below your left eye, down your cheek to just under your chin. Almost like a tear running down your face. You didn't like talking about how you got it, it's a horrible memory to relive. You can handle people staring at it and even talking about it behind your back. As long as you don't have to tell them how you got it. You concocted a lie with your friend years ago about getting scraped by a nail in broken fence post. It may not have been a perfect lie, but once you made it clear the story was boring people usually stopped asking about it.

You shake out your shoulders trying to pull your focus back to the task at hand. You write your name on the board in chalk and turn to arrange the few items that you brought on your desk. As you're placing your last desk trinket, a little rock with a wolf painted on it gifted to you by a student from your TA class, the first few students start to filter in. You smile at them as they enter the classroom. Once the bell rings it's showtime.

"Welcome everyone! My name is Miss (Y/L/N) and I am going to let you in on a little secret." You take a quick breath looking around at the class. "You are my very first class. So, I'm going to make a deal with you. You take it easy on me and I'll make none of my quizzes pop quizzes, I'll let you pick your own partners for any collaborative work, and I will keep the number of class presentations to the absolute minimum required by the accreditation guidelines. Deal?" You ask. A few of you students look around at each other before a boy in the back with slightly spikey hair speaks up.

"I mean, sounds like a pretty good deal to me!" He says and the other students either mumble their agreement or nod their heads. "Alright, looks like we're in agreement. Stiles, by the way. Under Stilinski, on the attendance sheet there." He introduces himself. You look down at the sheet to check off his name and are immediately glad he introduced himself. There's no way you would have been able to pronounce his actual first name.

"Alright, that's one off the list. Let's find out who the rest of you are." You start going through attendance.

The rest of class goes well, and you are already feeling better about taking this job. No one asks about the scar. As nervous as you have been it feels right to be here for some reason. Little do you know just how much you really are meant to be here.

...

You are woken in the middle of the night by a pain raking its way through your chest. You sit up nearly in tears due to the pain. You have had these pains for as long as you can remember. They pop up often and have seemingly no rhyme or reason. The only explanation a doctor could give you was a mild nerve condition. Since there was nothing else that could explain it and the pain was usually very mild you accepted it and learned to live with the occasional pain. However, this was significantly more painful than ever before. As you consider making a trip to urgent care the pain starts to fade leaving you with a mild tingling feeling across your skin. Just like all of the other times. So maybe no trip to urgent care, but you make a mental note to set up an appointment with you doctor to talk about your nerve condition getting worse.

...

Your first few weeks at Beacon Hills High School have been going well, and you are starting to feel at home. Tonight is one of the first lacrosse games of the season and you got invited by a couple of your fellow teachers. You are making your way to the stands to meet up with your coworkers when you run into someone.

"Oh! I'm sorry, excuse me." You apologize quickly.

"No that's my bad! I'm sorry." He responds. You finally look up at the man in front and you and he is easily one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen. You almost forget how to speak when you look into those eyes of his. He is staring back at you. He looks caught off guard, almost even a little scared?

"Umm... I'm (Y/N)." You say, extending your hand, hoping to politely break the tension.

"I...I'm Derek." He stutters back before taking your hand. He shakes your hand slowly, still looking kind of shell shocked. It takes a noticeably long time for him to release your hand. "Umm... What brings you to the game?" He gestures at the field.

"Oh, um, I am a teacher at the school and a bunch of us thought it would be nice to support our students on the team and get into the spirit." You tuck your hands into your coat pockets trying to hide your nerves talking to him. "What about you? You look a bit young to be a parent and I think I would have noticed you around school before." You panic as you realize how that sounds. "Not that you're super noticeable..." oops! overcorrected! "I mean your noticeable, just I... What I mean is it's not a big school. I've met everyone on the staff." You make eye contact with him knowing you are bright red with embarrassment. He chuckles softly, smiling at you.

"I'm here to support a friend. Scott McCall. I'm sort of friend slash mentor of his so I come to the games occasionally."

"Oh, that's nice of you." You respond. Lame you think to yourself immediately.

"Yeah, I guess." He pauses. "I should let you get back to your coworkers." He takes a step by to that you can pass him.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." You say as you step past him. "Enjoy the game."

"You too." He smiles gently again before walking away from the stands and toward the players.

You join your coworkers at their place in the stands, accepting a warm cup of cider from Mrs. Martin. The next couple of hours pass quickly as you watch the game. Every so often you feel drawn toward the front of the stands. Whenever you look down toward the front your eyes immediately fall on Derek sitting with the sheriff and a dark-haired woman that, if you had to guess, you would say is Scott's mom. You count yourself doing this no less than fifteen times over the course of the game. During several of these glances though, you catch Derek looking back up at you. He looks away quickly and so do you. Mrs. Martin elbows you gently to get you attention. When you look at her, she's smirking at you.

"Finding another reason to like Beacon Hills?" She nods in Derek's general direction. You blush immediately.

"Maybe..." You mumble, suddenly very interested in your now empty cider cup. She chuckles at you before turning back to the game.

...

Derek's POV

Goddamnit! He thinks to himself as he walks away from you and toward Scott. Derek had never really thought much of the soulmate bond he had. He barely felt any pain from his other half, and it was almost always so faint. He figured you had to be far enough away that you would likely never meet. Then, when things are at their worst you show up.

He would recognize you anywhere. He remembered the night you got that scar. It was nearly a decade ago, but he never forgot the way that hurt. Whatever made that cut moved slow and ran deep. It hurt him more than any other pain from the bond had, it had to have been agonizing for you.

The fact that you had come to town now felt ominous. Derek was losing his power, there were assassins hunting down supernaturals all over beacon hills and now you were in the middle of it. Then there was the thing he had not been expecting when he met his soulmate for the first time; you were not a werewolf, you were human.

All of this is swirling around Derek's head, distracting him. He almost ran directly into Scott. Scott put out a hand to stop him.

"Whoa, Derek. What's up?" He asks.

"Yeah man, you look like someone shit in your cereal." Stiles adds. Derek just glares back at him for a moment before turning back to Scott.

"Do you remember what I told you about werewolves sometimes having soulmates?" He asks Scott.

"Vaguely." Scott replies. "You told me it was very rare, and that soulmates could feel each other's pain, but only like a little bit. Until they get close then it gets stronger." Scott shakes his head. "But that's it. I don't really remember anything else."

"Did I tell you that I have one?" Derek asks.

"WHAT?!?!" Scott and Stiles shout at the same time, garnering the attention of several of their teammates.

"Keep your voices down!" Derek growls.

"Sorry. It's just, you definitely didn't mention that." Scott responds much more quietly.

"Yeah, well I didn't think it was ever going to come up, until now."

"Why are you telling us now?" Stiles asks him.

"Because she's here." The eyes of both Scott and Stiles bug out in surprise.

"You mean here right now?" Stiles points at the ground in disbelief. "Here? At this game?"

"Yes, I literally just walked into her on the way over here."

"Where?" Scott asks as both he and Stiles start looking around over Derek's shoulder.

"At the base of the stands. She said she was meeting up with her fellow teachers to watch the game." He sighs.

"Wait, she's a teacher?" Scott responds.

"Yes, she is." He looks over his shoulder quickly to see where you ended up sitting. He turns back to the boys. "She's up in the fifth row, next to Lydia's mother. She has a scar."

"Miss (Y/L/N), the new chemistry teacher?" Stiles is looking repeatedly between Derek and you in the stands as he speaks.

"(Y/N)." Dereks says your name quietly, almost to himself.

"She's your soulmate? Our chemistry teacher is your soulmate?" Stiles' words are still riddled in disbelief. "How do you know?"

"The scar. I remember the night it happened. I knew who she was the second I saw it."

"But wait, if she's a wolf, shouldn't the injury have healed without leaving a scar?" Scott looks like he trying to do complex math thinking about it.

"That's just the thing Scott. She's not a wolf." Derek shakes his head. "I could tell the second I smelled her, she's human."

"So, does she know about us? About everything?" Scotts asks. Derek shakes hid again.

"I don't know. I doubt it. Most people don't grow up knowing about our world unless they're in it." Derek looks back over his shoulder at you. "I don't think she knows anything." He turns back to the boys. "And it's going to stay that way." He adds sternly.

"What? Why?" Scott is shocked.

"Why? Look around us Scott. We are constantly fighting for our lives. There are hired killers all around this town hunting us. If she's not involved, I'm not dragging her in to get her killed." Derek's voice rises a bit as he speaks.

"Well, if she's human, then the hired killers won't be after her. Right?" Stiles adds, unhelpfully. Derek glares at him.

"She may not be on the Dead Pool, but do you think any one of the people hunting us wouldn't be willing to hurt her to get to me if they had the chance?" Derek snarls at him.

"Well, when you put it that way, no. I don't think any of them would have a moral crisis over it." Stiles looks a little ashamed as he answers.

"So, what? Are you just not going to tell her about any of it?" Scotts gestures generally around he asks. Then he points to Derek. "Not even your bond?"

"No, it's better if I leave her be." Derek says. He didn't know this was where the conversation was going to go when he told Scott about you, but he knows it is the right choice. Bringing you into this would get you killed. He cannot do that.

Before the boys have time to respond they are cut off by a sharp whistle.

"Stilinski! McCall! On the field, now!!" Coach's aggravated voice rings out. It's clear neither Scott nor Stiles wants to end the conversation here.

"Go." Derek says, before turning to go back and join Melissa and Noah in the stands. He sits next to Melissa. All throughout the game he is trying to make himself forget where you're sitting. Trying not to think about you, just a few rows away. He can't help it though. He keeps looking up to where you are. Physically unable to stop himself. A few times he even catches your eye and has to look away immediately.

One thing was very clear to him; leaving you alone was going to be very, very hard for him.

[blahlahblash]

Happy Holidays people, or day. Happy day :)

As a gift, have subtle December sonadow because this is what I decided to like

[applecidersstuff]

Percy Jackson is against bullying.

He is however very sad that neither Annabeth, Clarrise or Drew had met Octavian in camp Jupiter, because as much as he frowns on it he would pay any kind of money to see those three tear him a new one for acting like a little bitch he is.

[hansoeii]

look at you, you're gorgeous!

[fandom-imagination-ss]

🎃🎃🎃🎃 Halloween Imagine 🎃🎃🎃🎃

Imagine: Derek Hale your loving husband trying to single you to Not invite your parents to the pumpkin patch

Traditions were something Derek held close to his heart, considering he’s entire family was killed in a horrible fire that destroyed Not only just his family but he’s memories. It made sense that he would Value traditions even closer to his heart.

One Tradition was a Corny one.. your first date with the complicated sour wolf was going to a Pumpkin Patch, October 21. Close to Halloween but Not overly crowded. Derek still remembers how nervous he was to ask you out. you lived across the street from him. In the apartments. It was before Eli came to his life. You were a ray of sunshine. He instantly thought of Stiles when he saw you first. Clumsy and quick Witt. Honestly he was convinced for the first year of you living across from him that you were related to Stiles. During that first year he met SHE who Must NOT be named. He’s very Hot.. steamy Fling.. a passionate Fling that ended with her ghosting him for nine months and then dropping Eli at his door. And then running away. It was you who found the baby first. Derek was out helping the Shierff with a problem and you entertained Eli with the bit of things that was left for him. A few bottles, a bag of diapers nothing thrilling when Derek arrived. Home he saw you with a baby and he was stunned as you told him that their was a note.

he’s world spinner upside down once realizing he had a Son. And then he had to Figure out how to raise a baby. You having a baby sister. Who you helped care for, and little nieces and nephews you couldn’t Help but Help Derek.. especially after he tried waking up Eli.. the.Rule of thumb you NEVER wake a baby! You basically tackled him when Derek tried. It was then that Derek realized you were unconditionally Kind. You would make extra food for him to eat while you instantly helped with Eli and more times then not he came back from “work” which was him helping with a wolf pack or the sheriff to find you sitting on a rocking chair a old wooden one that you gave him to help With Eli. You would be holding Eli to you as you rocked him. But be dead asleep as Eli would be fast asleep. It was October 20th When Derek got the courage to ask you out. And he took you to a Pumpkin patch on the 21st. It was now tradition. The date was supposed to be just the two of you, but Derek’s sitter got sick. And you happily put on the “kangaroo do da’ as you called that that holds the baby to the chest. As a bundle. You always forgot the name and just called it that.

it was half way thur the maze as you were holding Dereks’ hand tightly as Eli was fast asleep in a little hat that you insited to bring. That Derek realized. That he was yours. Completely and utterly yours. It was when he realized. You were he’s Soulmate. The other half he was waiting for.

It was a Speical date and for the first few years. After dating and marriage, Eli would go with. But he was too “Old for that’ now to go with his parents so Derek would drag his favorite girl with you.

The last year of a family of three.. you were round. Pregnancy wasn’t what you expected… the “Glow” every talks about is just sweat. You were even hotter due to the wolf.. it had to be because she was a wolf. Because you were sweating buckets and the doctor Figured it was just pregnancy. Your local witch doctor figured it was due to the wolf gene. You were taking three showers if you coudl a day. Seven months. You were sitting at the kitchen table. Sitting resting your swollen ankles. You Knew you were being a absolute nightmare to Derek and Eli. So thru out the pregnancy you were leaving small tokens of “Sorry im a massive Beep right now”

Your Loving husband would refuse to agree with you that you were being a nightmare. Valuing his Life. Vs giving into the truth. Learning from how you snapped at Eli when he said you were hormonal… it wasn’t often he was scared of you- but that night he feared for Eli’s life. But alos. Took note.. Don’t tell you that your Hormonal he understood. The pregnancy was tough. Which was why he appreciated your kind little gifts. It made him realize the women he loved was still under the Sweaty mess that was you.

you were writing a ‘thank you” note to Eli for helping out with hte dishes. And giving him a 50 dollar gift card. When your phone rang. And Derek just walked in when you answer. It was your parents. Derek walked over kissing your head as you spoke, “Hey mom.”

“Hey sweetheart- your father and i were hoping to sneak down for the weekend and visit you and help out.”

Derke turned hearing that. He coudln’t help it. He’s ears were ringing when he heard your moms voice. Derek didn’t mind your parents.- they hated Him. He was older, a father to a Son that you instantly accepted as your own.. they could look passed ALL that but they still blame Derek for you two eloping. They weren’t overly aggressive to Derke. And they loved Eli and accepted him as a grandkid. But they were still stand of fish to Derek. Even after years later. Luckily they lived seven hours away and they NEVER Visit. You always have to go to them. So hearing them willing to drive down to them. Derek was stunned as you spoke, “oh- ugh.. we have plans we can’t change this weekend. Ugh.. what about next weekend?”

“what’s happening this weekend?”

You rubbed your head as you spoke, “we just- have plans…”

“Wait- is it that silly Pumpkin Patch you guys always do? Isin’t Eli too old for that?”

“Well- Yea.. but he’s going with his friends. It’s just Me and Derek going. It’s tradition. We always go on the 21st. .you can’ come next weekend.”

“Why dont we all go together?”

Your face went blank hearing that. As Derek shook his head mouthing out No, as he started waving his hands singling No. as your face flinched up , your hand went to your head as you said “ Sure… that be nice.” Derek leaned his head back trying nNot to groan out as you finished your chat with your mom. Derek stared at you once you were off the phone as you spoke, ‘what was i suppose to say? No? I can’t say No to mom!”

“that’s our thing!”

“it’s a family outing has ALWAYS Been a family date day.. their family.” “it’s the last one before Sabrina comes.”

“Who’s Sabrina? My child isn’t being named after a witch!”

Derek rubbed his face, “alright.. June..”

a common discussion in the house.. names for the baby.. you both tried the 2 veto’s thing. But that didn’t work, you then suggested Eli named his sister.. But then he came back with Prune which neither of you liked. You rubbed your belly, “Sasha.”

“No!”

You smiled nudging Derek with your foot, “you know— we could just put names in a hat and whatever is picked is it?"

He chucked shaking his head," no.. what about Felicia?"

" Felicia? So people can always say " bye Felicia? No!! No!"

This battle probably won't stop till the baby is born